Someone I Used to Know
by Shadow-Ocelot
Summary: She reminds him of someone he used to know, and someone he'd almost forgotten about. Once the memories begin to return he can't stop the floodgates and the emotional maelstrom they create. Charon/LW
1. Someone I Used to Know

Disclaimer: Don't Own Fallout 3.

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**Chapter One **

**Someone I Used to Know**

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"You're really pushing it, kid." His rough voice was edged with warning and beneath that warning was the smallest touch of frustration. For a brief moment she wondered just how far she had to push it to really see that frustration break through his usually placid surface and emerge into the light before deciding that was the last thing she wanted to see. She didn't believe he'd ever harm her, especially not as long as she held his contract, but the knowledge of what he was capable of was enough to kill any thoughts of trying to get a reaction.

"I'm just trying to help." She replied defensively, folding her arms across her chest as he once more shoved her hand away. She hadn't seen someone that stubborn since – well, since she'd looked in the mirror that morning, but that was beside the point.

"Your help is not required, I am more than capable of treating my wound." When he was satisfied that she had given up he returned once more to examining the bullet wound in his left thigh, expression scrunching up into various emotions, none of them very telling as to his opinion on its condition.

The young woman stood for a minute, watching him wordlessly. Finally she gave a deep sigh, "Yeah, you're right. You were talented enough to take the bullet, so I'm sure you can dig it out all by yourself. Don't come complaining to me when you start bleeding all over the place." Even as she said it she knew exactly how foolish the statement sounded. He was an experienced warrior who'd been fighting and caring for himself long before she had even been born and the idea that she could offer him something that he didn't already possess was ridiculous.

And of the suggestion that he would complain had been even more foolish. He rarely complained to her, and she supposed that even if there had been a knife sticking out of his heart he would not have said one word about it. She wondered if all this had come from the habit of working years upon years for people who cared nothing for his health as long as he was in well enough condition to serve them. To them he was merely a tool for bettering their own station, not a human being who could be injured and feel. There were many times that she was made to feel awkward for offering her concern to him and more than once had she been forced to take her leave of him for a short period to allow her frustrated emotions to wane before facing him once more.

This was another thing they didn't talk about: their feelings. Despite this she was confronted with the obvious fact that he could read her as clearly as if she'd written a manual explaining how she functioned. Without words he was able to discern her patterns of action and even the state of her mind at any given time. It was this ability that irritated her the most because she found it truly unfair that he could understand her so well and he was still such a mystery.

He stopped again, but this time shifted so that he could regard her fully. "You are upset."

_You think?_ She thought angrily. She was painfully aware that her anger was childish, but believed this childishness came from being around him. Everything he did made her feel like a little girl again, from the potent grace of his every move to the very tone in his voice. As much as she had learned about life since leaving the vault all that had seemed to go out the window when she met him, for he made her feel like she knew nothing at all. It made it all the worse because she couldn't even communicate these stupid feelings to him for he would just bluntly put them down as such, unable to understand how she could spend her time concentrating on such petty little things, once more proving he was that much more wise than she was. And even if she could talk to him about it what would she say, _'sorry for being so obstinate, Charon, but you make me feel like an idiot.'_

"I'm not upset." She told him, and forced herself to take a seat on the edge of a large piece of rubble before her thoughts carried her too far away from him. After the last time she'd been more careful of where she took her impromptu walks to clear her head. When he'd found her she couldn't tell if he was worried or furious, but she never wanted to see him like that again. It made her feel even more like a child in his care than his employer.

"Lying does not become the heroine of the wastes."

She sighed, fingers clenching her knees until her knuckles turned white. "I wish everyone would stop calling me that. Help a few people and suddenly I'm their fucking savior."

He didn't say anything to this, but the look he had was the equivalent to 'that's the general idea.' They'd had that conversation, or rather she'd informed him in no uncertain terms that she wasn't setting out on some heroic mission to save the world. She was just trying to find her father, and if she happened to help a few people on the way then so be it.

"I'm not perfect, okay." She muttered after a moment and turned her gaze away from his. There was something in his piercing stare that sent nervous chills down her spine, and not just because the feeling of being watched was uncomfortable, but because it seemed like he was always looking not just at her but at everything she ever was and ever would be.

"But everyone else thinks you are." He stated, and he said it not to argue about it, but to remind her of that fact. He knew she wasn't, she knew she wasn't, but due to word of mouth and Three Dog's radio transmissions most of the capitol wasteland believed she was and she knew that in itself meant something and as much as she wanted to run from the responsibility of her undeserved shadow it was there, hanging like a sword above her head. She was a beacon of hope and she had a duty to at least appear as such around people, for if they ever learned she wasn't what they thought they'd stop trying because that's the way people were.

"Yeah." She agreed aloud, staring off into the distance. The sun was setting; casting burnt orange rays across the landscape and reflecting off the exposed metal of broken buildings. Shadows were beginning to slink out from the rubble and seemed to reach their dark hands out in earnest towards the two of them. It was times like this she felt the unbearable weight of destiny pressing upon her and wanted nothing more to just give into the panic welling in her chest. "Sometimes I wish I were somebody else." She whispered absently unaware of the thought until it had passed her lips.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw his expression falter, features tainted by the foreign visitor of shock. His hands, which had been busy creating a makeshift bandage around his thigh, froze. Then the moment was gone, and whatever thoughts had passed through his head went with it, allowing his face to melt back into his usual stony façade.

"What?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Nothing." He went back to tending his wound.

"It didn't look like 'nothing.' You looked as if you'd seen a ghost. I know I'm pale and all, but I can't look that bad." She attempted to joke. "But seriously, if there's something I need to know spill it."

He turned to her again, expression unchanged, but there was a strange look in his clouded eyes. "For a moment you reminded me of someone I used to know."

"Oh." She crossed her legs underneath her, watching as he put the finishing touches on the bandage. "Wait, did you just share something personal with me – and me not have to drag it out of you?"

"It won't happen again."

She narrowed her eyes in thought. She couldn't tell if he was serious or not. He had a habit of sometimes blindsiding her with his own brand of subtle sarcasm. Even after all this time she was still not used to it.

"We should go. It will be dark soon." He said. "We might be able to make it back to Underworld before the sun completely sets."

She grimaced, "damn those raiders. I'd hoped to make it back to GNR and talk to Three-Dog again, but they sure fucked up those plans." She hopped off the rubble and landed with a soft thud onto the ground next to him.

"We'll have more than enough time in the morning to head by there. One night won't make any difference." He handed her the worn pack she usually carried, followed by the combat shotgun she preferred, and then gathered his own equipment. "Unless you wish to push on in the dark?"

"No, that's fine. We need to stop by Underworld anyway." She didn't show it, but she knew he hated to travel at night with her. It wasn't because he had any particular dislike for it himself, but more for the reason that she was clumsy in the dark presented them with a great disadvantage. After today's spectacular fail during combat she didn't feel comfortable giving him any more grounds to find her lacking. She slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to him with a small smile, "well, lets get going shall we?"

"Lead on."

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Author's Notes: I know its not a lot, but I'm trying something new for this story than my others, which is shorter chapters. Slight hope that I can get chapters out quicker because of this. We'll see about that. Anyway, I don't know when I'll get to post another chapter and get the story actually going because I have a couple others that I promised myself I would update first but I already had this finished so I'm going to go ahead and post and let it sit for whoever happens to be interested. Reviews don't necessarily equate to updates, but I have lots of other stories going and will probably put my efforts in places that I know people are interested in. So please review with likes and dislikes. Flames will be ignored and mentally labeled under rubbish. Thank you. - Shadow


	2. The Protector

**A Brief Apology**: I am truly sorry to anyone who had read the first chapter of this when I first posted a year ago and had wanted to follow it. Not long after I began my external hard drive had an accident. I believe its something to do with the power portion and not the actual memory, but the problem remained that I was cut off from my writing, not just my fanfiction but three years worth of original writing and novels as well as all my pictures and personal documents. It was more than overwhelming, especially because the accident happened on my birthday I felt the fates hated me. For the past year I've been in a writing slump, more like a writing depression and no matter how much I tried to work on anything it all came to naught. I still haven't been able to scrounge enough money to get my hard drive fixed and am a little afraid to in case I truly have lost everything, although it would be nice to retrieve my other Fallout story which was a good twenty pages and two chapters of some of the best writing I've ever done. Despite this I have a renewed vigor that has allowed me to begin writing again, and although I can't access the original two chapters of Derelict (my other fallout story) I have begun to work on the third, as well as its companion story, The Searchers, and have finally typed out Chapter Two of "Someone I Used to Know." At this moment I have already begun work on Chapter Three and hope to have it out soon. I mean it this time.

By the way, Happy Valentine's Day everyone. I hope you enjoy.

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**Chapter Two**

**The Protector

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"Did you hear that?"

Slender fingers reached out from the darkness and grasped the arm of his jacket. Almost as quickly as the desperate panic had set in it was gone and the fingers slipped away, releasing him with a touch of embarrassment tainting the movement. Charon didn't say a word in acknowledgment. He knew that his employer was a sensitive one. In fact, over the time they'd worked together he'd come to know almost everything there was about her. He knew every fear, every joy, and every little quirk – annoying and endearing and sometimes both. Others might not have believed it due to the constant reports of her brave heroism that Three-Dog spouted over the radio, but she was not the perfect little warrior she appeared to be.

Sadly there was no doubt in his mind that if the populous saw this side of their wasteland wanderer that they would begin to lose faith in her, lose their own hope for a better tomorrow. She might even find herself in greater danger to the scum of the barrens of what once was the shining edifice of civilization. Yet, Charon considered himself lucky to see this side of her, the side that clung to him in the dark. Her vulnerabilities, her imperfections were what made her a true heroine in his eyes. They made her human, and they made her more worthy than anyone to be D.C.'s savior. She'd come through nightmares most couldn't fathom, and not because she was born with this innate ability to lead or be a hero, but because she fought like hell to be there.

Fought like hell for strangers.

Charon had been one of those strangers once, listening to her exploits and thinking on how someone like that couldn't really exist, and if they did how their luck would run out sooner or later. He'd seen it a million times before. Some idealist takes it upon themself to save the world and then come to find out they couldn't even save their own ass. Then she'd appeared, dusty and irritated as all get out from the firefight she'd had with some super mutants on her way to Underworld. Claimed she'd been looking for the place a long time so she could give someone a message and did they know Carol?

She would drop by the community every so often, bringing supplies and whatnot, and Charon'd almost forgotten the passing conversation she'd had with old Azhrukal about his contract until the day she came into the Ninth Circle, this strange smile on her face and a gleam in her eyes. She didn't even flinch when Charon had walked over and put Azhrukal out of everyone else's misery. She'd just smiled and said, "I think we'll get along just fine."

They'd been partners ever since.

Charon didn't answer her right off, but stood statue still as he listened to their surroundings. He was trying to pinpoint what it was that she had heard; if there was anything to hear at all. At first there was nothing but the empty still of the underground subway tunnels. Then he heard it. It was a familiar crunching smacking sound that usually accompanied the rending of flesh. Something was dead down here, but what was worse was the fact that whatever had probably killed it was down here with them.

At the very best it might be a wild dog, or possibly even an errant mole rat. At the very worst they would probably encounter a feral ghoul, of which caliber he could not exactly tell, especially when he couldn't make out if that is what it was at all. "Stay here." He said, a gruff edge to his voice that meant there would be no arguments. He knew she feared the darkness of the tunnels, but he couldn't afford any distractions while he searched for the culprit of her panic. Her hand tugging on his clothes was definitely a distraction.

He heard her exhale as her lips parted, ready to say something, maybe beg him to let her go with him, but she stayed quiet and allowed him to move forward without her. Many would not think that someone as tall and muscular as he was could move so stealthy, but he did so with efficiency and confidence. Charon knew the Lone Wanderer was watching, probably biting her bottom lip nervously with her arms crossed protectively over her as if she were cold. Providing the image that everything was fine and he had everything under control was key to keeping her from flying into a complete panic. Even when he wasn't always sure himself he made her believe that everything was okay, and between the two of them they'd made it so up to this point.

He came to the end of the tunnel and surveyed the large junction point that was the station. The tunnels, though tight and dark, provided a cozy safety that a large area like this didn't permit. Out here there was too much debris, giving raiders and other enemies too many places to hide in wait. Just like standing in the middle of a clearing in a lightning storm, you didn't want to be caught standing in the middle of a place like this with nowhere to go, especially with the level above him perfect for assholes to perch on with a higher advantage.

A clang of metal brought his attention to his right where, crouched on a pile of concrete, a feral ghoul bent over something. Charon could smell the distinct scent of blood and knew that the lump in the feral's hand was most likely part of whatever – _or whoever _– it had recently killed. It paid him no mind. He swiveled his gaze back in front of him to see at least three more in varying positions underneath the platform; they were far enough away to not pose any problems. At the top of the stairs, next to an old makeshift shelter he saw a couple more milling about, purposeless. He noted the proximity to the right staircase to the open archway leading to the metro exit and their position farther left. If he took care of the feral to his right in silence and the two of them could sneak up the stairs they could make a break for the exit and be home free. If that was one thing he knew about his employer it was that she was fast, the fastest he'd ever seen.

He was completing his plan of action when he heard the timid voice behind him in the darkness. "Charon, did you find anything?"

"I told you to—" _stay back,_ he had wanted to finish. The high screech of the closest feral ghoul interrupted him, sensing new prey in the area. Sensing the girl.

"Eleanor, run." He ordered. His voice was calm, but grave, carrying with it an underlying current of urgency. He reached behind him and grasped her arm, thrusting her in front of him and towards the right stairs. "Go for the exit."

"They're right there!" Her voice rose in horror as she saw the others.

"You can make it, I promise! Just go, now!" He shouted, and he had to hope she listened, for when he turned his attention back to the feral ghoul barreling down the debris pile he had to give his full concentration to it. Before it could finish its descent Charon swung his shotgun around and blasted it back. He was originally going to swiftly dispatch it with a knife, but silence wasn't an option anymore. Speed was. It had alerted the other ones in the area and he could hear their cries of hunger and violence as they turned to search for the source of interest.

One he hadn't seen rushed from the black corner by the stairs and groped its long skeletal hands for the retreating young woman. The tips of its fingers caught the back of her boot and threw off her balance. She pitched forward, her knee cracking against one of the steps painfully.

"Nora!" He raised his gun again to no avail. It was too close to her. If he shot at it now it could hit her and they'd be in worse trouble.

She flipped around and reared her feet back, her knees almost meeting her chest, before kicking out with a vicious scream. Her boots connected with the feral's head and knocked it back far enough for Charon to get one good shot in. The attacking beast jerked from the impact fell, twitching, onto the ground. He crossed the space between them and aimed down at the half-alive mass and pulled the trigger. When he looked back up Nora was already near the top of the staircase, but was blocked by the feral ghouls that had become aware of the commotion and intended to cut her off, whether by some remembered subconscious strategy or just chance. Before they completely closed in on the entrance to the stairs she leaped passed them and hit the concrete floor. He could hear the telltale scrapping of her boots against the dirt as she scrambled to her feet, continuing to move.

He sprinted up the stairs to follow her, not wanting her too far out of his sights. He had no idea what was waiting on that top level and he didn't want their convenient partnership ending because of a miscalculation. He was supposed to protect her and if he failed –

"_Charon_!" The absolute terror in her voice caused his head to snap up towards the sound. He couldn't see the ferals anymore, but could hear their guttural growling. Her cry spurred him to take two steps at a time, reaching the top just in time to see her fall backwards in an attempt to avoid one of the creature's clawed swipes. Her panicked eyes met his for a moment before she had to throw her arms up to defend herself. His body took over, instantly moving to block their attacks.

One of them had been in mid-lunge, teeth bared and caught his arm. He felt the ripping of skin and the familiar warm sensation as his blood rushed to meet the wound. Without having to look he already knew that it was bad. Claws tore at his skin and he turned his weapon sideways to bash the attackers backwards, giving him the room to aim. He took off one of their heads in a cloud of bloody mist, bone fragments and brain matter raining down onto the concrete at his feet. Then he was hit from the side, the ferals from below finally arriving into the battle. The force knocked him sideways and he was thrown over a pile of concrete.

The pain was tremendous, causing his vision to blur and sway, his mind almost cascading fully into blackness before another jolt brought him back. Jagged debris had pierced straight through to his back, tearing through his skin and muscle. The roar that tumbled from his throat was animalistic and frightening as he pulled himself up. The fury pounding through his agony-ridden body fueled the energy to clear his way through the onslaught.

He didn't look back as he rushed to the Wanderer's side and grasped her arm. Gentle was no longer in his vocabulary and he vaguely noted her cry of surprise as he jerked her forward. They propelled themselves on, and even through it was probably just twenty seconds from the battlegrounds to the sight of the metro entrance that criss-crossed metal partition seemed more like the gates of heaven. They burst through them into the cool night air and slammed it shut with an echoing clang jut seconds before the creatures slammed into it. But they were safe now.

The wall felt cool on his back as he leaned against it, but the pressure on his wounds sent another wave of pain that caused him to shut his eyes and groan in protest. When it subsided he looked at her, bent over with her hands on her knees, and rasped, "Nora, are you hurt?"

"No. No, I think I'm fine. God, Charon, if you hadn't–" She had turned to look at him now, but her face fell and the color drained right out of it. Her delicate hand fluttered to her lips when her eyes fell on the still bleeding tear in his arm. She was immediately at his side, urging him to sit down as she ripped her bandana off her head and started digging through her pack. Moments later she pulled out water and a bottle of alcohol. She rinsed the bandana in the water first, and then dipped it in the alcohol before wrapping it around the wound, the sting causing him to seethe as it met even more raw flesh than usual.

His vision was fading rapidly and the sounds around them were becoming distant and muffled. Now that the adrenaline was flushing from his system the fatigue was washing over him and the damage began to take its toll. He hadn't felt this bad in a long time. His uninjured arm reached out and grabbed hers, "go get Willow."

"I can't just leave you alone." Nora protested.

"You're going to have to." That phrase affected the girl strongly, and the look that melted upon her face was one of dawning realization that this was a desperate situation. She nodded at him and slung the pack over her shoulder. As unconsciousness took its black hold over him he wondered if that fading image would be the last time he ever saw his employer. His eyes slid shut again, and this time they didn't open.

He would rest now.

She was safe.

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**End Author's Note**: I hope you liked it. I'm honestly a little worried though about the way I wrote Charon. I do not want to make him too... soft. However, through observation I believe on the inside he's a decent, perhaps kind individual, but because of his life he just doesn't know how to express his feelings, or perhaps even acknowledge them. I tried to make him more gruff on the outside, but show that inside he really does have that kind side to him. Please let me know what you think, not just about this, but the story in general. Any feedback is nice and if you're like me, one of those shy lurkers that is kind of afraid to say anything, don't be. Even the smallest sentence can brighten my day or help me with the story.

**Next Chapter**: Since much of this story will deal with two time periods, one being the present and the other being almost flashback chapters of a previous employer of Charon's, I'm trying to consider whether I want the next chapter to be the beginning of the past chapters or a continuation of the present situation. I've got versions of both in the works, but have to decide which one to post. Any thoughts on what you would like to see?


	3. Carter's Gambit

**Author's Note**: Oh my god, two chapters in one day. Technically. I felt that Chapter 2 was really short and I was already into chapter three quite a bit so I went ahead and finished. If you don't know much about the date, its 57 years before the Lone Wanderer left the vault which was in the year 2277. So its a loooooooooong time ago. I actually look forward to writing a very different Capitol Wasteland. I also hope you enjoy this chapter. Once more, Happy Valentine's Day.

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**Chapter Three**

**Carter's Gambit**

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_Capitol Wasteland, 2220_

The man took another long swig from the bottle in his hand before placing a card on the table facedown. The expression that twisted his features was one of maniacal glee that indicated he had a potentially game winning combination. Lyle Decker had one of the worst poker faces in the entire Capitol Wasteland, probably the world. Charon supposed that maybe a poker face wasn't necessary in Twenty-One. Despite being a drunkard, a sleaze, and an overall prick Decker had an extreme amount of luck when it came to cards. Whether it was Poker, Black Jack, hell, even Go Fish, Decker won more than he lost. Then again, it could be because he tended to only play those that were considerably more stupid than even he was.

Charon turned his head away from the table in the back of the little dive and towards his plate of food again. He pushed around the burnt bits of mole-rat with disgust, not because of the fact it was mole-rat (he was quite used to wasteland food) but because it had been about the only thing he'd had to eat for days. The owners of this establishment didn't share the good stuff with strangers, if they had any good stuff in the first place. It wasn't that boxes of cram or fancy lads snack cakes were up there on the luxury scale, but compared to half a week of mole-rat stew, mole-rat bacon, and even the owner's wife's "fantastic" mole-rat lasagna a box of sugar bombs was looking like a fillet mignon.

"Ha!" Lyle Decker guffawed, his big meaty hand slamming onto the table. "Read 'em and weep gentlemen." He'd won another round, but he was only getting started.

Just as the groans of the unlucky losers died down and another hand was being dealt the door opened, a strong gust of hot air swirling around the bar and wrapping around him like dusty caress. His eyes flickered over to the new arrivals, three of them silhouetted there against the mid-day sun. The first was an older man, a salt and pepper mustache and beard heavy on his leathery tanned face. He spoke gruffly to the younger man at his side, but his words were lost in the din of the unruly card players. The younger man moved further inside. He looked green, almost studious. His medium brown hair lay slightly ruffled, but still neatly on his head. It was long, yet not long enough to be considered rebellious with a gentle wave that caused bits to frame his youthful and very jovial face. He put his arm around the woman next to him, a bright laugh bursting from his lips as she smiled at him.

The woman wasn't necessarily anything special. Her hair was a couple shades lighter than the younger man's and longer. It curled down to her waist and seemed too perfect for her to be any normal wasteland survivor. None of the three did. Their clothes were too clean, too neatly pressed, and their shoes, especially _hers_ had almost no sign of extreme wear. They were almost new, as new as something could be in this land. She smoothed the front of her shirt and walked over, seating herself on the barstool next to him and raising her hand at the bartender, who also happened to be the owner. The owner's name was Ricardo.

She ordered a few drinks, "in bottles please, not glasses," because they were only stopping to water their Brahmin and pick up a few supplies and then they'd be on their way.

As she waited for him to bring the drinks to her she turned her head to look at him. Not _through_ him, _at_ him. Her eyes were a vivid green, and for a moment he thought that it was a trick of the light because no one should have eyes that were that alive. They moved up and down him, taking in every detail before opening her pink lips, and her voice didn't sound like it should belong to a delicate little thing like that, smooth like molasses with a touch of sensual elegance. "So, what do you do? You don't look like everyone else in here."

Was that supposed to be funny? He considered. He was a ghoul, of course he didn't look like everyone else in the room. They were human, they were _normal._ Still, as he turned his head to regard her he realized she wasn't being rude and hadn't meant it in any negative way. She truly had made an observation and was voicing in. No, he wasn't like these other wasteland assholes. "I'm a bodyguard." He replied.

"Which body are you guarding?" She asked, turning to survey the crowd.

"That one." He nodded his head towards Decker.

"Oooh." She giggled; such a tinkling, bell-like sound. "What a body that is." It wasn't said in admiration, unless it was the kind of disbelief. Decker was a big man, a glutton of both food and drink. His physique showed it.

Charon just grunted and pushed his plate away. He was finished with it.

Ricardo came over carrying a wooden crate and sat it down on the table. "Carter party, right?" He inquired of the young lady. When she nodded he pointed at the crate. "Your father wrote me a few weeks ago and ordered these supplies for when you came through. This was all we can spare. I hope it works."

She stood and began examining the contents: dandy boy apples, cram, bottles of water and alcohol. Apparently the management did have the good stuff, but they only brought it out for their better patrons, meaning those that weren't drunkards – or ghouls. "This should do just fine, sir. How much do we owe you?"

"Twenty-five caps ma'am."

She pulled a little velvet bag from the leather pack she was carrying and shook out the caps into her hands. Charon watched as she counted them out, her slender fingers pushing each and everyone across the counter at the bartender. A couple of times her hand almost brushed his and he knew he should probably move it, but he didn't.

"Rebecca!" A gruff voice called from the doorway. It was the elder gentlemen again. He hadn't even noticed that he'd gone and come back. "Do you have everything?"

"Yes, father, I'll be right out." The woman called over her shoulder.

The man grumbled and stalked out again, the younger man following close behind. He was apparently in a great hurry, like most businessmen that traversed the wastes. Out a grimy window Charon could see an armored man next to a couple of pack Brahmin, an assault rifle held tightly in his gloved hands. Caravaneers. That figured.

"Well, Mr. Bodyguard," the woman said in a playful tone, giving him a little smile, "I'll see you around."

As she began to walk away, wooden crate in hand, he raised his voice, just enough to be heard over the noise of the bar, "Charon."

"Huh?" She looked confused for an instant, her eyes wandering back to him.

"You called me Mr. Bodyguard. My name's Charon, miss."

That gentle smile returned, curving, almost melting back onto her face. "_Charon_. I like it."

"REBECCA!"

"Jesus!" She cried and spun around, "I'm coming!"

Charon tipped his drink up; listening to her retreating footsteps and trying not to concentrate on the way his name had rolled off her lips, as if she were tasting it, _savoring_ it. An almost imperceptible smile turned the corners of his mouth. He had liked it.

X-X-X

People came and people went in the wasteland. Every soul seemed to be "just passing through" wherever they were. Settlements only existed to be waypoints in every nomad's journey. Charon never expected to see the Carter Family again. Fate had a funny way of proving one wrong in these instances however. Not even an hour after they had left they were back, one less Brahmin, a good deal of merchandise short, one dead caravan guard, and an injured caravan leader, for the older man, the father, had been shot when they were attacked by raiders. He was rushed to the town's doctor and for a while they disappeared inside.

When they finally did emerge they made their way to the bar. The heretofore light-hearted siblings were now drawn and pale, drained by their own worry and the event that had returned them here. The brother guided his sister to a table and sat her down, patting her shoulder reassuringly. "Father's stubborn, Reb, he'll be all right."

"I know. Its just…" She lowered her head, words trailing off as all description of their predicament failed her.

"I'll be outside burying Joseph." Her brother told her. "Stay out of trouble."

Decker heard their exchange and raised his head from his cards to study them for a moment. "It's a sad thing about your guard there, young man." He stated, tapping his hand on the table. "Do you need any help with the job?"

"Help would be much appreciated, sir. It's plenty hot out today and two would make the work go much faster."

"Hm." Decker considered. "Charon, why don't you go and aid this poor young man?"

The Ghoul rose from his seat without a word and followed the man to the door. He was relieved to have a break from the bar, even if it was one in the hot mid-day sun. He could only listen to Decker's shouts of victorious joy so long before wanting to deafen himself. "Where did you put the body?" He asked as they stepped out onto the creaking wooden porch.

"He is covered by a tarp over with the Brahmin." They made their way across the dusty street to the shack that was the town's general store and trading post. In front of it was a series of long wooden stakes used for tying up visiting Brahmin. Together they lifted the body and carried it behind the store onto a small knoll. "I think he would like this. This is a good spot."

Charon set him down and regarded the young brunette, "I take it he was with you for a long time?"

"Joseph was with our family's caravan service for ten years. He started working for us as a teenager. He was only a few years older than me, so he was almost like a brother." He let out a deep sigh and then retrieved a pair of shovels to begin digging. He handed one to Charon and then pressed his own into the hard ground and pushed.

They continued to work, at first silently, the task more than understandably solemn. Charon wasn't much of a talker to begin with so it didn't bother him that his work partner wasn't in the mood for conversation. But as they passed the halfway point he began to speak again, "I talked to a few people while we were inside waiting on news for our father, they said there's no one that can take his place. No one that doesn't already have a job, that is. My sister told me you're a mercenary."

"I am." Charon replied.

"It's a shame you already have a paying gig, you look like you could handle yourself pretty decent. What you don't seem like is the type to enjoy working for someone like that slimeball in there. I know this sounds really bad of me, perhaps even rude, but I wouldn't mind someone I could trust along with us. I don't really know you too well, but I always prided myself on a keen judge of character. I'd be willing to pay you twice the amount that he is."

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer."

The man bowed his head, sweat rolling off the tip of his nose and hitting the parched ground, his voice was full of defeat, a little desperation. "We can't make it out there by ourselves. It looks like our father is going to have to stay here while he recovers and we can't afford to miss our route or we'll lose all the new business we've gained. I'll go up three, four times the amount."

"Its not a matter of money, Mr. Carter. I am bound in service to Decker as long as he holds my contract of employment. I cannot just quit."

"I see," the young caravaneer said, "then that is most regretful. I had a good feeling about you."

X-X-X

The bar was as they left it, except for the growing pile of caps on the table in from of Lyles Decker. He _gleamed_ with joy at his fortune. Since they'd been gone the game had switched over to poker. "Another round gentlemen?" He asked of the other wastelanders sitting around the table. There were a few groans and one man got up mumbling something about the game getting "_too rich for my blood, Decker."_

Young Mr. Carter walked over and took his seat, earning a few interested looks for which he replied, "I wouldn't mind giving a game a go, sir, its been a hell of a day. It would be nice to get my mind off of it."

"Well, welcome to the table, young man." Decker clapped him on the back.

"Daniel…" His sister said, "we can't afford—"

Daniel raised his hand to silence her, "I won't bet too much, and something has to pass the time while we wait on the doctor."

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat back in her chair, looking particularly irritated, but didn't argue any further. Even when the game started going south – like it always did for people that weren't Decker – she kept her silence, opting instead to bide her time while working on the caravan company's logbook. The only time she opened her mouth was when the game was over and her brother had lost a good 75 caps. "I hope that teaches you, Danny."

"Hm." He looked thoughtful for a moment before a flickering look of mischief lit in his eyes. "I've got an idea. It'll make the game more exciting."

"Tell me your idea then." Decker said. He was always up for suckering poor chumps out of their money. It didn't matter to him that they recently had a death in their ranks or their father was lying in the Doctor's shack being worked on. They were targets for making his bank a little richer.

"I've heard you've got yourself an excellent bodyguard, sir. Being that our caravan is down quite a few hands why don't we make a bet concerning his employment? If I win the next game and I get his contract."

Charon's head snapped up from what he was doing to look at him. _What the hell are you doing?_ He wasn't the only one with a look of surprise. Out of the corner of his eyes her saw Rebecca lift her head, eyes wide with disbelief. Her fingers curled around the pages of her logbook and shut it, suddenly drawn into this new game that was more than just cards and caps.

Decker laughed, his stomach bouncing as he did so and slapped the man on the shoulder again. "That is interesting indeed. I do believe I'll take that option." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper and dropped it on the table beside the caps. "Now, if we can all agree that this is a side bet, meant only for our newest dear friend Mr. Carter we shall continue." It was agreed upon.

The second game sadly went along the same lines as the first, ending in Carter's defeat at the table. Yet it seemed he wasn't the type to give up and shook his head with humor. "It looks like you're a pretty talented card player there, Decker. How about one more."

"I would feel bad taking any more money from you, son." Decker lied.

"Oh, now, sir, I've got this little compulsion. Its silly but I like to do things in threes. I feel like then I've given something my all. Allow me one more game, perhaps a sweetening of the pot?" He motioned to the table full of caps in reference to pot and leaned nonchalantly back in his chair, one arm draped over the back. "I win, I get the contract. I lose; you get my caravan. The Brahmin and all the goods. Imagine how much money could be made in profit selling it all? Interested?"

Decker was more than interested. "I'd feel bad, kid, but you really seem adamant. All or nothing! One last game, just for you."

"Goddamnit, Daniel, you can't do that!" Rebecca cried. "Father'd have a heart attack if he heard you trying to gamble away this shipment!"

"Well, Father isn't here." Daniel said.

"You've lost your mind, you imbecile." She fumed, rising from her chair to leave.

"Aw, wait sis, stay."

"Stay, why? So I can watch you practically give away everything Joseph just died protecting, no thanks!"

"Come on," he said sweetly, voice rising in a sing-song trill, "you're my good luck charm."

She frowned at him but sat back down. "Play your stupid game, but don't complain to me when we lose everything."

For a while it seemed like Decker had the upper hand, his overly cheery mood prevailing over the game. It was when it took a turn that Decker began to sweat. He lost his happy smile and actually started concentrating more on the game. Daniel remained stoic and without emotion either way. Finally it reached the end and Daniel tossed down his cards, finally cracking a smile. "Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, Decker. Third times the charm it would seem." He rose to his feet and whisked the contract off the table, a shocked and angry Lyle Decker glaring at the action.

Charon was dumbfounded. He had no idea what to say. It was a surreal moment. At the next table he heard Rebecca gasped and when he looked there was a bright smile on her face.

"You can't do that—" Decker sputtered.

"Oh, but I can. I _won_, sir." Daniel replied. All traces of the 'aw shucks' city boy card player was gone and in his place the charismatic business that had spoken to Charon outside. He had played Decker, and Decker had been too stupid to realize it.

Decker reached at his side and grasp his pistol, raising it at the winner's turned back. Instantly Charon had his shotgun raised, pointed straight at his ex-boss. He saw Decker's finger pressing the trigger and Charon fired. It wasn't a fatal shot, but it caught the man's arm that held the gun and he cried in pain, the pistol clattering onto the table. Luckily, it did not go off.

"You shot me! You fucking shot me!" He screamed.

The second Daniel Carter's hand touched his contract the balance had shifted. He no longer had to worry about tolerating the creep.

"You're a goddamned cheater, Daniel Carter!" Decker accused, struggling out of his seat to stand. He was now gripping the gun into the other hand. It was awkward, but it was still dangerous and it was possible for him to still hit the young caraveneer. Charon raised his gun again and Decker rounded on him. "And you! You son of a bitch! You can't treat me this way I'm your fucking master!"

Charon snarled, his tall form towering over Decker as he strode over to him. Decker's face melted into horror as he stumbled back and fell on his ass. Charon put his boot in the center of his chest and pushed down, making Decker's head clack against the wood. "I am _not_ a slave, you dimwitted bastard. You apparently don't have the capabilities of reading that contract to the point of understanding because you missed the part where when you no longer _have_ it you no longer have any _control_ over me." He started to leave him but then turned back, slamming him down again, putting just a little more weight on the writing man. "And I would watch who you call a cheater." He released the man's chest but bent down and gripped him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. He shook him and a series of cards fluttered from his sleeves. With that point made he released Decker, who was now facing a table full of angry wastelanders.

Daniel grinned like an idiot and scooped the winnings off the table into a small potato sack and handed it to him. "Consider this a starting bonus."

"Some of these are yours."

"Not anymore." Daniel chuckled. If anyone had earned that bag of caps he'd have to say it was Charon. "I think we should go check on my father, and then we should have a discussion about this contract of yours." He slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping.

Charon grabbed his bag and followed the two siblings out of the bar. As he watched the two he began to think that perhaps he'd met a couple smoothskins that weren't so bad.

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**Next Chapter**: We return back to the present and face the Lone Wanderer's emotional dilemma concerning the metro incident, and with Charon out of commission she has to face it alone.


	4. Fallen Hero

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the review. I'm really happy that you're enjoying the story so far. As for all the story alerts I've gotten I'm surprised and glad so many are taking an interest. I appreciate it all, especially after being gone so long. I hope you all continue to enjoy!

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**Chapter Four**

**Fallen Hero**

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The night was crisp and cool, a faint breeze blowing over the ruined expanse of downtown D.C. It had been a quiet night with the exception of some gunfire over towards the Washington Monument where the Brotherhood of Steel guarded the relay dish that the Lone Wanderer, Charon's little pet smoothskin, had installed for Galaxy News Radio. The Brotherhood had probably been fending off some Super Mutants. After that there had been nothing but the occasional barking of a distant dog or the dim rumble of broken concrete falling over concrete as the buildings shifted. Willow sat in the dark shadows next to the Museum of History, a cigarette loose in her fingers as she watched over the area.

In seconds the glorious still was shattered by a panicked cry. Willow rose to her feet and listened as hurried footsteps grew closer and the screams got louder. "Willow. _Willow_!" She knew that voice. It was the little vault whelp… and she was alone. Why was she alone?

"Where's Charon?" Willow asked as the girl drew closer.

"You've got to help… you've got to come…" The girl was almost breathless, hair bobbing around her terror-twisted face. She grabbed Willow's arm and started to pull her alone, but the Underworld guard automatically yanked it out of her grasp, not only because she didn't like being pulled around, but because there was a part of her that was truly shocked that the girl was touching her in the first place.

"I asked you a question, smoothskin." Willow growled. "Isn't Charon with you?"

"Does he _look_ like he's fucking with me?" The Lone Wanderer's voice was shrill and strained, tears welling in her jewel amber eyes. One streaked down her cheek and she wiped it away with a violence Willow had never seen in her. "Charon's hurt." The girl said, softer this time. "We… the ferals… he's bleeding… You have to help me get him to Dr. Barrows, somehow."

Willow's annoyance with the girl subsided for the moment, soothed by the Lone Wanderer's worry for her bodyguard. She couldn't keep her usual anger with her as she cried over the incident and motioned for them to go. As the ex-vault dweller took back off Willow followed.

X-X-X

Eleanor remembered the initial feeling that had overwhelmed her the second she had stumbled out of the vault into the unforgiving brightness of the wasteland. It was like she had stepped out of everything sane into a crazy alternate world. She'd walked from everything into nothing and she was swallowed by that void, alone and lost. That same feeling was with her now as she sat in the Chop Shop, knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped so tightly around her legs that they had begun to ache from the strain, but she paid it no mind. Her physical pain was nothing compared to the emotional. Her heart felt like it was breaking all over again, but this time it wasn't the sense of abandonment and confusion she'd experienced when her father had left, but a soul wrenching guilt.

It had all been her fault.

If she had listened to him, had stayed behind like he had told her to then everything would have been okay. Charon had never failed her. He had always known best. When he told her she would be okay, or gave her a suggestion it wasn't something mild, it was because that was what had to be done for their safety – for her safety. He was now unconscious, bleeding – maybe dying – behind one of the separators. She could see Barrows' and Nurse Graves' shadows moving behind the separator, heard them speaking, but so low she couldn't make out their exact words. She had been shoved away the second she and Willow had gotten him there.

_I don't deserve to be here. It's all my fault._ She bit her lip hard to stop the sob that wanted to erupt from her. She felt like she didn't deserve to cry either. Her life had been full of fear from the moment she'd stepped foot into this world, every good thing ripped from her, but he'd help replace it. Charon had been the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. He was fast becoming her best friend and she had probably killed him because she was a weak, pathetic, completely foolish little girl…

Barrows finally came around the separator, his face set in a solemn expression and lips drawn into a perfect line of serious contemplation. Nora was immediately on her feet, hands taking turns to wring each other viciously as he approached her. "Is he going to be okay?" She asked. Her voice didn't even sound like hers anymore. It sounded small and broken, the tone interrupted by the tears that wanted to fall. She tried to fight them because she didn't want to appear as weak as she felt.

"I think it might be too soon too tell." Barrows told her. "We've stopped the worst of the bleeding. Stimpaks closed the majority of the minor and intermediate wounds. The injuries on his back and arm are probably going to take some time to heal. We've already begun a course of radiation therapy, but we've been unable to rouse him. Perhaps that's just as well because I'm sure he's in a lot of pain."

Nora's brows furrowed and her hand covered her mouth as she attempted to stifle another sob. "So you have no idea when he's going to wake up?"

"No, I don't." She could tell that Barrows was trying to keep the bit out of his tone but had failed. The next thing he said wasn't as kind. To any one else, maybe to one of Charon's previous employees it would have been a necessary statement, but Nora felt herself chill and then bristle with anger. "But Charon's always been a tough man. I wouldn't worry about your investment."

"Investment?" Nora hissed. "Is that what you think Charon is to me?" She shouldn't be surprised. It didn't take a genius to understand that most of the ghouls in underworld harbored resentment towards her. Her happy-go-lucky personality mixed with her all too nice attitude about ghouls was the topic of mixed conversation. Some thought she was manipulative, others just thought she was a naive little idiot. She could probably count on her hand the number of them that actually enjoyed her company and trusted her. Well, maybe _trust_ wasn't exactly the right word. Tolerated. Yes, tolerated was much better.

"I don't know what Charon is to you, ma'am. Don't take it as my being rude. I'm sure you understand where I'm coming from."

Nora fumed a little, the bristling rage overshadowing her sadness for just a while. As it subsided she looked back at him. "I suppose I do. Is there any way I can see him?"

"I don't think that would be a good idea right now. Perhaps its best you just go back to Carol's and get some rest."

She didn't think she'd be able to sleep, but she could tell by the tone that he wanted her out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind, out of his hair… "Maybe some rest would do me good. If Charon wakes up please come get me." With that she gathered her things and trudged over to Carol's to check in. By the time she'd finished paying for the room (she'd paid for a week, acknowledging it would be a while before she left underworld) she knew there was no way in hell she was going to rest. She could hear the under-the-breath whispers and feel the quick sideways glances at her back.

The bags would be safe in the little cordoned off room of hers so she left them there and headed over to the Ninth Circle to get a drink. Since Ahzrukhal's death residents had taken turns keeping the place running. A new _permanent _bar owner hadn't been found yet. Her eyes traveled to the corner where she'd first seen Charon and her mind whirled with memories that threatened to break the calm she'd managed to bring to herself on the walk over. She turned away and took the drink she'd ordered, downing it in one gulp before asking for a few more. This time she got them to go and headed back over to Carol's to find a nice quiet table to sit at and drown her sorrows alone.

X-X-X

It was like being in Vault 106 all over again. Eleanor felt like she was going crazy, her mind drifting through space like it wasn't quite inside her body. Between the floating, the alcohol and stress-induced headache, and the multitude of whisper-accompanied glances she just wanted to disappear. Eventually everyone's voices began to run together like a dream, much like when you were about to pass out and everything slowed down, except she wasn't granted the peaceful unconsciousness. She knew that every whisper couldn't have been about her, but she was becoming paranoid, and it only took one overheard and coherent statement to turn her into a raging bitchmonster.

"Fucking say that to my face!" She stood up. Later she wouldn't even remember the exact thing the ghoul had said. She didn't even know his name. Since she'd first discovered Underworld she'd tried to remember everyone, but he just seemed to slip her memory, whether it be because they didn't have many dealings or hadn't really met yet. Either way he seemed to have a very strong opinion about her and it was getting on her nerves. It hadn't helped that since she'd come in and sat down he'd kept looking at her like she was the spawn of Satan.

To Nora Ghouls were just like other people. They had emotions, could get their own ideas about things, and they had the same failings. One of the biggest negatives in human nature was the urge to resist that which was different from you. That was what made a good deal of "smoothskins" feel repulsed or disturbed by ghouls. Sadly it was also a reason that many ghouls didn't like "smoothskins." Yeah, they had a good reason to hate a lot of normies and had been treated badly, but some of them, this one being one of them, hated normal people just because they weren't ghouls. It didn't matter if they were decent or not. They were a ghoul and the person they were encountering was not. He would have fit right in with Roy Phillips.

"Excuse me?"

"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about." Nora spat angrily. "I'm not deaf. I can hear you over there talking about me. What did I fucking do to you?"

He sneered at her, almost like her anger was some precious gift. Was she proving him right somehow by freaking out on him and screaming? What was so great about spurring someone into anger on the day when their life was falling apart all over again? "Listen, I don't know what you're problem is, but it seems you're a little drunk."

"Yeah, I'm a little drunk, but I know hatred when I see it. Really, what did I do to you?" Her voice came out and hitched with a touch of desperation, almost as if she was about to cry. When she recovered it was only full of anger again. "I've done nothing but try to help! I'm sorry if there's something I did to _offend_ you. If you would prefer I'll treat you like shit the way everyone else in this godforsaken world does!"

The sneer on the ghoul's face grew and the hatred practically radiated (ha! _Radiated_…) from his eyes. He climbed up from his seat now and stood to face her. "Oh, I know your kind." He shook a finger at her. "You waltz in here all smiles and kindness, but we all know that underneath it all you're just judging us. I think what's worse than any kind of disgust is pity and we don't need your pity. So you come in here acting nice, trying to 'help' us out, all because the world treats us bad and we look like this—" he pointed at his face "—its really an insult, you see. Its fake."

She narrowed her eyes. Behind the expression there was more though. Even as she defended herself she began to doubt. Was that the way it was? Was the true reason she was so nice to ghouls the mere fact that she felt just so damned sorry for them that she had to, the way you would feed or pet a stray disgusting looking dog just because it looked so damned pathetic? _Am I really like that?_ "Oh yeah! I'm so fucking fake!" She huffed. "So fucking fake that I waltzed straight into Tenpenny fucking Tower and forced myself to listen to their vapid little ideals and talk each of its fucking citizens into allowing _your_ people to live there. Oh, and guess what happened? Massacre. Yeah, all of them dead. I cared so much for people like you that I just went and killed about 50 damned people but I'm still fake." Her tone carried with it the distinct notes of flippancy. If her sarcasm had been any stronger it would have cut him like a knife.

The ghoul scoffed. "I'm sure that was so hard on you, little _heroine of the wastes_. Oh, please, you've got to be kidding me. Be honest with yourself, you're nothing more than a petty little scavenger. We hear all those little tales of your heroic exploits out there, but we know the truth. If you didn't have your ghoul slave with you you'd never have had the ability to do any of those things. I notice reports never mention _him_."

Yeah, that's what it came down to. Charon. Her mouth twitched. "He's not a slave!" She roared. Even Ahzrukhal had never referred to him as a slave and Nora could tell Charon didn't like it either. It was a thin line between what he was and what a slave was, but he didn't want it misunderstood that there _was_ a line there. In addition to that every day Nora was trying to show Charon that there was another way he could live his life and hoped that she would be the last contract holder he ever had.

"Then what is he? He takes your orders, he follows you around, he protects you from all those scary little bumps in the night." He was mocking her now.

"He's my friend! What was I suppose to do, let him stay in the Ninth Circle so he could do Ahzurkahl's evil little bidding! He was better off with me. At least I treat him like a human being and not some guard dog."

"Yeah, he's _so_ much better off now." The ghoul smirked. "Yup, bleeding all over the Chop Shop is so much better than hanging out in the Ninth Circle any day. People are just _dyin'_ for their turn."

Rage blossomed inside her. "If you hate me so bad then why don't you take a shot. Go ahead, fucking hit me!" She slapped her hands onto her chest, egging him on. She was finished with these petty little mind games. If he had just kept his mouth shut about Charon she could have maybe cooled down or waltzed off to some dark corner until he'd left, but he hadn't. She was in pain and sometimes the only way to forget pain was make more pain.

"You're crazy."

"Been called worse. You some pussy? Hit me!" She shoved him and the physical touch was the button that set off the rest of their altercation. His hand came up and she felt the hard connection to her jaw and she reeled back. The deep, guttural chuckle that came from her lips was almost frightening, even to herself as she turned her head and stood back up. "That all you have? You fucking _slap_ me? I said HIT me!" And she shoved him again, but harder this time, almost enough to knock him clean over.

The fight was on. The flurry of it, the pure heat of it rushing through her veins allowed her to momentarily forget the horror of the day. The only thing that existed was the battle at hand and how she was going to show him a lesson for talking about Charon like that. Like he was some slave, like he was a pathetic puppy following around his even more pathetic master, like he was _nothing_. Charon wasn't nothing. Charon was…

Charon.

Nora suddenly sobbed and stopped fighting, but he didn't. He hit her one more time and she fell over onto the floor, a worthless heap of flesh. She knew it. The sad thing was everybody else had known it first. The ghoul was right. Nothing she had ever done could have been accomplished without Charon in the first place. She had disillusioned herself into thinking that she might be special in some way, buying into Three-Dog's hero talk even as she said that she didn't. There was a part of her that actually wanted to be a hero a little bit. In the vault she had been nothing, but out here she had a chance to do something amazing. It had been foolish to think she actually had. Charon was the true hero here, not her, and he was paying for it.

She gasped as a kick landed into her side and she sobbed again, but this time not from the turmoil that muddied her mind, but the pain that burst throughout her at the physical onslaught. Suddenly the pain was stopping and she heard a scuffle and another rasping, angry voice saying, "sit the fuck down."

Seconds later someone grasped the back of her duster and hauled her to her feet. Then she was being led out of Carol's and towards the Ninth Circle. She brushed the tears from her eyes and craned her head to see who was dragging her along. Crowley. Mister Crowley had been the one to pull the ghoul off her, pull her to her feet. He was cursing as they walked, hand clamped tightly at the back of her duster still, as if he were afraid if he let go she'd take off. He looked determinedly serious and _pissed_.

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**Next Chapter: Learn the Hard Way.** Crowley has a little chat with Nora and she must decide how she should proceed from this moment on.

R&R, _and a multitude of thanks again!_


	5. Learn the Hard Way

**To Teufelszeug:** Your review made my day. Thank you so much! I was on the phone when I got it and I had to tell the other person to hold on while I had a squee moment. Hehe. I hope you continue to like it as the story progresses.

**Author's Note**: Originally this talk was not part of the story, and then I considered having Winthrop do it, but Crowley just kind of shouldered his way into my mind and took front position on this so I let him do it. You know how stories sometimes write themselves. I tried like hell to keep him in character and take into account he and the Lone Wanderer's history in my version. Some of the dialogue isn't as polished as I had wanted, but the whole thing is full of such raw emotion anyway that it kind of fits. Let me know what you think about it. On with the show!

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**Chapter Five**

**Learn the Hard Way**

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The Ninth Circle was as busy as ever as they entered. Every head turned as the doors sprang open with more force than it was usually necessary to open a door. It was because he had hit it, and _hard_, when they had reached it, and even if she hadn't have noticed the anger in him before it would have been apparent at that moment. Mister Crowley dragged her over to the bar and pretty much threw her onto a barstool. "Stay." He hissed before turning to the crowd inside. He then ordered everyone out, and when they all began to groan and protest he raised his voice and stood a little taller and everyone scattered.

Eleanor got up to reposition herself. He must have taken it as an attempt to leave because he strode back over to her and placed a hand in the center of her chest and pushed her back down, eyes burning into hers. "I. Said. Stay."

A shiver ran through her spine. She'd never seen the ex-mercenary so forceful.

Crowley cut off both entryways to prevent anyone else from entering, and then he checked the bar to make sure there was no one else in there with him. When he was satisfied that they were alone he spun on her and roared, "What the hell were you thinking?"

She drew back against the bar counter, wanting to appear smaller the way that a child would when their parents screamed at them or an animal cowered in an attempt to protect themselves from a larger threat. She didn't know what to say to him. How would she even start? She didn't think that it would go over well if she just blurted out the truth, not that she would in the first place. Despite her incessant need to protect other people and do good she was not a very trusty person and even though she'd had dealings with Mister Crowley before she wasn't sure if she was ready to reveal her problems to him. Yet it was their previous encounters that allowed her to sit there without trying to leave.

"Is it that you weren't thinking at all?" His voice was a little softer now, but it had still not lost its almost authoritative and intimidating edge. He definitely didn't seem like the same man that had jovially shared a few drinks with her on their first meeting, the meeting that they'd discussed the work she'd be doing for him. At this moment she could truly see the mercenary that he used to be and the harshness he had to have embodied. God, he had to have been frightening.

She sighed and bowed her head.

"You're not hurt are you?"

Her eyes snapped back up to him in surprise. Was that concern that she read within his tone? Crowley didn't seem like the type to care for anybody in this world, in fact just months ago he had threatened to rip her heart out with his bare hands if she took the armor that he deemed his. That was after she'd revealed to him that she'd learned the absolute truth about why he had wanted her to hunt down the men on his list. The fact that he was now looking at her with an irritated desperation was shocking. "A little sore." She said slowly. "I'm fine however." _Physically._

"You're an idiot, you know that don't you, smoothskin?" It was more of a statement than a question, but there seemed to be a small note that said he also wanted an answer. He wanted to see if she understood what had happened back there.

"I was angry." She explained. She understood. She understood very well. "He just wouldn't shut up. And then he mentioned Charon and—"

Crowley held up a hand to shush her, closing his eyes for a moment as he considered this. "Yes. I think we've all heard by now what happened with you and Charon in that metro tunnel. Its apparent that you are more than just a little upset about it."

She nodded.

Crowley walked around the bar, bending out of her side for just a moment before returning with a pair of bottles in hand. He slid one to her and kept the other. "I think you and me need to have a little talk, yes?"

That definitely wasn't a question. It was an order. "I guess we have to."

"What happened?" He revealed that he had just started a shift watching after the Ninth Circle (he never minded doing so because it meant free booze and he spent a lot of time there anyway) when he'd heard the commotion and someone had come running in yelling about 'that smoothskin' and the fight she was in with some ghoul. He'd arrived just in time to see her fall.

Nora relayed the story. "I just lost it. Everyone has been looking at me like I'm this horrible person and I just couldn't take it anymore. I guess I wasn't just screaming at him. In a way I was really screaming at everybody." She fisted her hands and looked down at the counter, her voice breaking as she continued. "I don't understand it. I try so hard… I do everything I can."

He sighed and shook his head. "First of all, fuck 'em. If they're too stupid to give you a chance then they're not worth your time worrying your head over them. Second of all, you're trying too hard." When she raised her head to look at him again he went on. "Imagine you were like us, treated like dirt on the bottom of someone's shoe every day, and when we do have someone come in and treat you decent they end up fucking you over because they'd really had an ulterior motive all along. It's hard to trust even those that are like you, too, because your own kind is full of pricks as well. When you're surrounded by nothing but treachery and mistreatment, and have been around for as long as many of us have, you tend to start by not trusting people first. They have to _earn _it."

"I think I understand. I haven't earned it yet, have I?" She took a deep, rattling breath.

"Not even close, smoothskin." Crowley said.

"Then why are you doing thing?" Nora asked. "Why are you helping me?"

"Ah. Yes. The difference you see is that I happen to _like_ you." He admitted. She tilted her head, more surprised than ever. "There's a lot of them out there that couldn't find their own ass if they were sitting on it so I know they're incapable of seeing anything beyond what they want to see, but I've witnessed enough assholes over my time to know when someone isn't one. To tell you the truth I thought the world was ending all over again when you waltzed into Underworld with that armor of mine. When I found the keys missing I thought you'd broke your word and went after it for yourself. Then you dropped it at my feet with that damned grin on your face." He chuckled a little bit. "Didn't want to see me get hurt, huh? You're a fucking sucker, Blake, but that did it. A lot them out there think you got it for me to get on everyone's good side. Big show to rally the troops around you. They weren't there for the fight we had when you confronted me about lying to you. You had balls, kid, and damned if I didn't respect that."

Nora never knew she'd made that much of an impression on him. Rather she figured he just shrugged and moved on in life. "Uhm, thanks I guess."

"Oh, I said _had,_ little girl." He corrected her. "Something's happened to you and it's part of what's making this situation worse. Now you listen to me, and you listen to me close, because I feel like I owe you for getting me that armor and this is me paying you back. You want to get along here, you take my advice."

"I will." She nodded. She felt a small curl of hope deep inside her chest and was eager to hear what he had to say.

"Your heart's in the right place and some see that. Not _everyone_ hates you. Winthrop likes you, to a degree. He's more willing than most to give you any chance you need to prove yourself. Carol loves you, mostly because of your friendship with her precious little Gob. She looks forward to seeing you because you bring his letters and apparently he thinks you're a saint. She trusts his judgment. And Jesus, I think Snowflake's a little smitten with you, or at least your hair." He gave her another deep chuckle at this. "The point is you're not alone here, but this attitude of yours is doing more harm than good."

She kept quiet, unsure if the attitude he was talking about was the one she had just shown, the one that screamed at asshole ghouls and started fights, or her previous attitude, the one where she tried her hardest to be kind and understanding.

Crowley went on, "Charon's going to be just fine. I know you're worried now, and it must have looked pretty bad by the way you're acting, but he's not going to go out this way. If anything is clear about what I'm saying, let it be this," he leaned forward a little, making sure he had her attention, "Charon's your biggest supporter," and when her mouth started to open he hurried on, "and not because of that damned contract of his."

Arms crossed over her chest and she regarded him with a curiosity, almost a challenge for him to explain exactly what he meant by that. She didn't hold out much hope that Charon had feelings for her that breached their employer/employee relationship. As much as she wanted a friendship between them it looked like it would never happen. Now there was someone standing there telling her something different. "How so?"

"Very few people ever had interactions with him while he worked for Ahzrukhal. The first reason being the obvious, his inability to converse with others unless told to. The second, it just seemed that even if he could he still wouldn't. I've never seen someone with eyes so dead before." _And trust me,_ he thought silently to himself, _I've seen plenty to compare to._

Nora had noticed the same thing. It was like the switch that made you normal, allowed you to feel, had just been turned off in him. It had broken her heart to watch and had spurred her to try to help him. He had been slowly dying inside, which was something she wasn't going to allow in her presence. She had hoped that taking him out of this place would bring him back, but so far it was proving such an insurmountable task to pull even the smallest bit of emotion from him. She was starting to realize that it wasn't Underworld, or Ahzrukhal, that had been holding him back, it was something else, something she couldn't see. "I fear he'll never be alive." She finally voiced her concerns, her heartbreak clearly evident in her tone. She felt so hopeless.

It was then Crowley smiled at her. "My dear, have you not noticed?"

"Noticed what?" She hadn't noticed a damned thing except for Charon's fiercely overprotective nature and tendency to treat her like a child even at the best of times.

"You're _already_ bringing him back to life."

Crowley's words hit home, driving straight into her chest and clenching into her heart. For an instant she thought she felt everything in her body still, as if she had been put on pause. Then she realized that her heart had actually skipped a beat and a minute gasp was drawn from her lips. "That's… not possible." Nora had felt so bad about all the people she had been helping when she couldn't even begin to reach her companion. If she had been doing so all along then maybe… maybe there really was some hope.

"Its very possible. Don't ask me the specifics, but he's changing. It's not a dramatic change. He's not going to be miraculously healed overnight. It's there, though. Those that pay attention can tell that he enjoys being with you." Flippantly he added, "then again maybe after half a century with Ahzrukhal even the most irritating individuals seem like angels." He was taking a verbal shot at her.

Nora narrowed her eyes. Deadpanned she replied, "you're _such_ a comedian."

"I'm hilarious, sweetheart, and don't you forget it." He countered casually, pointing one rough finger at her. It was inches away from her nose and she pictured him poking it like someone would do a child, but he didn't, and she was glad when he leaned back. "There is one other thing you need to know."

"Go on, Crowley." Nora prompted. She took the last drink of her beer and shoved it over the counter at him. She watched as he disposed of it, noticing how hard the gears seemed to be working in his head tonight as he considered how to approach whatever subject he was about to begin.

"I mentioned before you looked upset. I've seen that look before. It's not the first time someone has drowned their sorrows in Underworld, the guilt eating at their souls for something they feel that they've done. You've heard of "Daring" Dashwood haven't you?"

It had to be rhetorical question. Who hadn't? "Yes, I've even met the man. Tenpenny, remember?" She informed him.

"Ah, yes." He looked rather displeased for a moment. "Phillips killed him didn't he?"

"Yeah." Nora said, eyes casting upon the counter again. Neither seemed to like this fact very much. Dashwood had been harmless and quite pleasant to be around. He had even been made an honorary ghoul of Underworld, and for that he should have been left alone, but Roy Phillips' hatred knew no bounds.

"I'm sure you've heard the story of him and his friend Argyle. I know the radio says 'trusty manservant' but that's a bunch of bollocks." Crowley said. "Dashwood may have appeared that way to a lot of people, but to those who knew them were aware that they were best friends, more like brothers. Sure they'd had their rough spots. For a time they almost wanted to kill each other, but that's neither here nor there. I haven't always made my home here, but I stopped in a lot, and I happened to be here the night Dashwood came dragging in after the Rockopolis incident. He was talking about how he was hoping Argyle got out of there, and 'oh, he's probably on his way here now' but you could tell in his tone that he knew. Argyle was dead and he blamed himself. Spent days drinking himself into stupors over it."

"That's really sad." Nora admitted. She remembered the sorrowful nostalgia in the old man's tone as he had told her about it himself. Of course, he'd left out details such as these, but she could see how much it had hurt him to lose his friend like that.

"You remind me of Dashwood, and not just a little, kid, _a lot_. In fact, fifty years from now I'm probably going to be listening to the exploits of Eleanor Blake and her trusty ghoul companion Charon." He pursed his lips, as if that mere thought was somehow funny but still probable all at the same time. He shook his head and continued his train of thought. "The point is: you have a chance that ol' Daring didn't. You've made a critical error in the way you do things and you nearly lost someone very close to you. You have two choices, continue on the way you've been doing or search that pretty little smoothskin head of yours for what you need to do to find that moxie you possessed when you first waltzed in here. Otherwise, Charon's going to end up like Argyle."

She swallowed hard at that. The thought of Charon leaving her – _dying_ – because she refused to see the clear path to strength was more than she could bear. Crowley was right. She'd survived months on her own without Charon, had even fought off groups of super mutants all by herself. Once Charon came into the picture dynamics had changed. When she reflected on it clearly she could see as time went on she had depended upon him more and more, her fighting getting rusty, her old fears returning, and instead of charging into battle she hid behind him like a coward.

"I think I know what to do now." She finally said. After a moment a bright smile curved over her lips, eyes twinkling. "Thanks. I, I really needed someone to talk to me like this."

He nodded his head almost dismissively, "yeah, yeah, kid. You're welcome. Now get out of here, its prime business hours and there's booze to sell."

She laughed and climbed to her feet. As she reached the door she turned around again, the smile disappearing for only an instant as she seriously thanked him. "I mean it, Crowley. I didn't expect this, but you have no idea how much this means to me."

"Don't mention it." He told her gruffly, then added, "No, really. Don't mention it, I got a reputation to uphold around here."

Nora gave him a playful salute and waltzed out of the Ninth Circle, leaving the ghoul behind to shake his head. Underworld had become a much more exciting place as of late, and he had a feeling it was just starting to get rolling. He hadn't meant to have such a talk with the vault girl, but once in her presence she inspired more serious, perhaps more softer moments. That girl could even make a cranky old ghoul like him take pause and chill out his cold, cruel heart.

Even if it was just for a little while.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** We're traveling back into the past again as Charon and Daniel Carter go after the raiders that robbed the caravan.

As always, please R&R! Have a good day, everyone!


	6. NineTenths

SarahIntheSky Thank you so very much for the compliment! It really brightened my day when I received it!

Thrior Oh, wow! Thanks. Yes, I'm glad you liked the fight scene. I really wanted to make it a point that although Nora means well and is true in her heart about the she feels that there are other points of view. I hoped that someone would see the two sides and realize that they were both right and both wrong in this situation. And under the circumstances she was too mentally unstable and upset to really handle it any other way than get upset. If she had it wouldn't have been believable for me. Or for anyone. Nobody's perfect, not even the Lone Wanderer. Also the difference between Charon and the LW is something that will be a huge impact on the story and is one of the big plot designs. As they struggle with her attempts to become stronger and more independent it will also spur changes in the both of them. For Charon it will be mostly emotional and mental in nature. I hope that this story will be not only a look into his past as well as a tale of healing for him.

Rosethorn Glad you like! Thanks for the review!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

**Nine-Tenths**

* * *

_Capitol Wasteland, 2220_

Daniel Carter was perhaps one of the few men that had actually bothered to read through Charon's control upon procuring it. That by itself was a major step up from the majority of his contract holders. It occurred to the ghoul that it might just be natural for a businessman to ensure he knew every detail of a situation they found themselves in. What was the contract other than another small form of business between the two men? Yet as they sat in the wind-blown silence of the darkening wasteland evening Charon studied closely the way Carter's eyes scanned the paper within his hand, his soft eyes flowing left to right, left to right. Every once in a while he would make a small noise to himself, as if inwardly commenting on parts of the contract. When he was finished he procured it safely on his person and turned to Charon.

"Well, I'm not quite sure of what to say about all of this." Daniel shifted a few inches on the splintering wooden bench outside of the Doc's place, gaze traveling to a faraway point in the distance as one hand lifted to scratch his ear. "Listen, when I say the next thing that comes out of my mouth please do not take this the wrong way. I saw the way you were back there with Decker—" _I'm not a slave!_ Charon's gruff and furious voice worked its way back into his mind, as clear and powerful as if it was happening all over again on some kind of violent loop. "—Which I don't blame you for because frankly he was a prick. I understand the way you consider this." He touched the portion of his jacket that held Charon's contract inside. "Still, I have to be honest with you when I say that while this _isn't_ really slavery it still makes me nervous having a piece of paper that tells me that I can pretty much order another human being around to do whatever and that they can't even argue with me. It seems… unnatural."

At the edge of his vision he caught the telltale swirling of a small dust cyclone. It was nothing to worry about, being nothing more than just a momentary up gust of dirt and debris that was kicked up by a sudden strong breeze. He remembered chasing similar cyclones around the Carter family ranch when he was a child with his sister Rebecca, who at the time called them "baby tornados." What might have reminded him of a more happy memory seemed only to instill a deep sense of omen and symbolism concerning his predicament, as if the wasteland itself was forming from its desolate clay flesh a physical manifestation of his emotions.

In spite of Charon's history of obeying his contract holder his mental capabilities had never been dampened. In fact, it was probably for that very reason that his mind was as sharp as the talon's of hawk and as dangerously perceptive. Listening to Carter speak and watching the minute ticks in his facial expressions told him many things about the young caravaneer. Charon understood even better than Daniel what he was trying to get across. He had actually never come across a contract holder that had any such issues with his state of employment, but he had encountered many other folk in his time that found it a horrible system and tried to convince him that it was not normal and that he shouldn't allow himself to be "owned" in such a way. Always he tried to keep himself from being insulted and politely explained that it wasn't himself that was owned, merely his services. His mind was free to be whatever it wanted to be and he could believe whatever he wanted to believe.

"Mr. Carter, there is no reason for you to worry about our arrangement. This is who I am. It is what I do and have always done. To be honest, it is probably what I will always _do_." _Until the day I die_. Unlike others the thought of a life of combat was not a frightening or depressing one. It was familiar. Comforting. This life was one in which he almost always knew what to expect.

"I—Listen, I know that you probably know a hell of a lot more than me when it comes to certain situations, and by that I mean situations in which might get people killed, so I want you to be completely honest with me about everything. I _want_ you to share your thoughts with us, especially if I come up with a stupid plan or am about to do something that would put anyone in harm's way. And if you have an idea about something yourself you are more than free to share it with us. So, more or less I want you to act as not only our bodyguard but also our guide and advisor. If this is all right with you?"

"Very well, Mr. Carter, if that is what you wish." Charon nodded. From the corner of his eyes he could see Rebecca through the curtains, sitting in the doctor's recovery room with their sleeping father. "If I may make a suggestion now?"

"Of course."

"The raiders that killed your guard and injured your father? They seemed to have gotten away with a good amount of your property. You spoke of trying to get it back. I believe tonight would be a good time to hit them. They will be high on their victory and might not expect retaliation." He swept his attention back to his employer's face. "It helps that their type spend most of their time drugged out of their mind so their reactive time might be diminished."

Daniel grinned. "That, my new friend, is an excellent idea."

X-X-X

Stryke lit his third cigarette of the night, sucking delicious nicotine through the filter and into his already blackened lungs. The head rush that came hurtling through his brain made him sigh with pleasure as he leaned back against the warmth of the boulder behind him, his arm lowering to rest upon his bent knee. With half-lidded eyes he watched the orange glow of the prize dangling between his fingers and remembered fondly the carnage of that afternoon. He had thought everyone had given up this little stretch of land into the Capitol Wasteland, but he and his gang had been wrong. It had been Digit that had seen their approach and announced that they only had one guard. _One_ guard!

It had been like taking candy from a baby.

Somewhere to his right he heard Yodel and Lala shouting at one another amidst their moans of passion. "_Harder you fuck!"_ followed by "_Maybe if you weren't such a goddamned whore you'd feel it!"_ Stryke rolled his eyes and took another drag before climbing to his feet and walking over to the occupied mattress where the two were madly humping each other. "Shut the fuck up, you two! Get a fucking room!"

"We're in the middle of a canyon you fuck!" Yodel shot back, turning his head to look over his shoulder at their leader.

"Its not a canyon." Stryke muttered under his breath. Sometimes it really hurt his brain that his companions were so stupid, then again not everyone had the pleasure of being formally educated that took on this kind of life. He'd never been cut out for 'normalcy' and quite enjoyed this lifestyle much better. Out here if someone pissed you off you could just cut their throat open and watch them bleed to death. It was a more convenient way of gaining respect.

"What?"

"I said," Stryke raised his voice, "you're a fucking retard!" He kicked Yodel in the side and threw him off Lala into the dust. He threw back his head in laughter as he walked away, snagging a bottle of whiskey and a couple Jet inhalers as he passed their campfire. Across the camp his eyes caught Digit's, who smiled and disappeared into one of the smaller offshoots of this little pass they'd come to call home. Yodel might have liked screwing his piece of ass in front of the rest of them, but Stryke preferred his privacy. Sticking the inhalers in his pocket he followed Digit into the darkness.

X-X-X

Dead End Pass was not the most creative name Daniel Carter had ever heard for a geographical location, but it was a fitting one. From what he'd heard from the locals the narrow passage between one area into the next had been cut off somewhere closer to this side. The culprit was most likely a rockslide caused by some sort of explosion or soil deficiency. He figured it had probably caved in during the war when all the bombs were falling, given that much of the land passed the rubble was said to be highly radiated. Since nobody traveled the route due to the obvious "dead end" nature of the road it made a perfect place for someone to set up shop. A particular troublesome group of raiders had moved in a couple years ago and had been terrorizing the area ever since. Most had learned to steer clear of the area, but outsiders and travelers still fell victim. That piece of information angered Daniel for he had met and talked to many of the people in this area, had done business before they had decided to push through into the newly developing areas around D.C.'s ruins. The least they could have done was warn them of the danger, but they hadn't. Because of that his friend had been killed and his father hurt.

Yellow-orange flickers of flame bounced along the narrow rock walls below, illuminating the space in a macabre play of light and shadow. Along one stretch hung a heavy chain from grooves within the rock. On hooks from that chain held everything from weaponry from the body parts of some of their more unfortunate victims. Daniel could have gone without the lighting effect in that respect, for it just made the scene look that much more horrific. He was reminded of a Halloween haunted house, except in this case everything was way too real. He ran a nervous hand through his unruly brown hair and set down his pair of binoculars.

Suddenly a tall figure emerged from the darkness and dropped down next to him. For a split second Daniel started until he realized that it was just Charon coming back from his own personal errand. "I set up the mines at the mouth of their hideout," Charon told him, eyes scanning the area below them. "If they try to run they'll find a nice surprise."

Daniel nodded. "I knew that people did terrible things, but I have never seen it. How can humans do that to each other?" He motioned to the grisly decorations the raiders had strewn about their home.

"People that become raiders are the worst of humanity. Between the already sick mind they have present they add drugs and other vices to that. You're luck y that you and your sister escaped. You would have been tortured. You would not want to know what they would have done to her."

Daniel blanched. "They're little more than animals."

Charon made a thoughtful, partially amused sound. "They're more than animals, Mr. Carter. Don't let them fool you. They can have their moments of intelligence. However," he allowed a wicked smirk to pull at the corners of his mouth, "that doesn't mean that we can't kill them like they're animals."

X-X-X

Yodel and Lala were the first to die.

Charon aimed his rifle with careful precision and placed a bullet in the back of the male's head. The woman's scream of surprise sounded more like the yowl of a mountain lion, inhuman and feral. He swung the rifle over a few inches to catch her trying to wriggle out from under her dead lover and caught her straight in the chest. Her eyes went wide as the bullet hit and she froze. For a moment she stayed like that, and then she slumped over, her blood spilling out onto the ground in tiny crimson rivers. He picked off two more unsuspecting raiders as they came to see what was going on. In their drug-induced stupor they barely had time to register what had happened before they were crumpled on the ground.

A shot zinged across the rocks between he and Daniel. "I believe I'll take that as an invitation to go meet them personally."

Daniel lifted an eyebrow in interest at his new guard's bloodlust. Charon seemed to enjoy this like some men enjoyed art or recreational pursuits. Daniel remembered his words, _"this is who I am. It is what I do."_ He watched as Charon vaulted over the small cliff-face and headed down the rocky side towards the raiders. Despite his size and bulk he was actually quite graceful in the way he moved, honed and practiced. He had never seen someone that controlled before.

"Shit, I might just watch you work." Daniel called down.

"If that is what you wish." Charon called back, a touch of humor in his tone.

"Yeah? And let _you_ have all the fun." Daniel climbed over the side himself. Although his trip down was not so graceful. He had to find hand holds and slid more than few times. Luckily the raiders below were more than busy trying to keep up with the mass slaughter that Charon was raining down on them.

One of them came at Charon with a tire iron. He grabbed it and twisted it out of his attackers grip and then tossed it aside before seizing the raider's neck and squeezing. The raider gasped as his air supply was cut off, his nails scrapping against Charon's knuckles in an attempt to get him to let go. He didn't understand that in this battle-fueled adrenaline rush Charon didn't feel it, didn't care.

Another raider aimed a shotgun at him and he swung the raider in his hand around to catch the majority of the flack, causing him to convulse in his hands from the impact. Charon raised his rifle and returned fire on the new threat. A couple shots downed him with little resistance. One to the chest, one to the throat. With little thought he snapped his impromptu shield's neck and dropped him on the ground.

The battleground had gotten fairly quiet and he searched for another target. When they had arrived he had made note of how many raiders there had been and there were still a few missing from the body count. As he turned he saw one of them skidding away towards the entrance of their alcove. Another twisted smirk came upon his lips as he followed him.

"Wait, no! No! Don't kill me!" The raider begged as he walked calmly up to him. He had spun around and threw up his hands defensively.

Charon studied the man for a few moments before taking one threatening step towards him. "Boo!"

The man screamed and stumbled backward, right onto one of the mines Charon had set earlier.

"Hn." Charon turned and walked back to where Daniel had just finally came down off the side of the incline. He arrived just in time to see him smack one of the remaining raiders in the side of the face with his assault rifle and kick him over. The caravaneer nearly shredded the man apart with his shots.

"Yeah, mother-fucker!" Daniel shouted. "They say possession is nine-tenths of the law, but what you didn't count on was that one-tenth. The one where the _real_ owner comes back to claim his stuff and fuck you up!"

"Nice work, Carter." Charon admitted.

Daniel nodded and wiped a flecks of blood off his face. He then spit on the corpse at his feet. "That was for Joseph you scumbag."

"I don't see any more of them," Charon said, "the rest must have gotten away. We should fine your cargo and start hauling it back." He slung his rifle over his shoulder and started to search the area for their prize.

Daniel did the same. He had only killed one of them, and although he wasn't the kind of man to hurt a fly, it had still felt good. These people had it coming; he truly believed that.

"Mr. Carter, I think I found your property." Charon announced, coming across a stack of crates by the wall.

"Charon, one more thing. None of this Mr. Carter stuff. Call me Daniel."

"Daniel." Charon corrected, giving the other man a slight nod. He hadn't been in this man's employ for very long but he decided that he could get used to working for a man like this. It was different, that was for sure.

Suddenly something hit the ground to their left and he had just enough time to realize what it was. A grenade. The other raiders hadn't escaped; they had been waiting. _Son of a bitch._ It was disastrously close to Daniel. Charon sprinted towards him. The last thing he remembered before blackness was grabbing Daniel by the collar and turning himself so that he was between the grenade and his employer. There was an explosion and a great disorienting ringing sound.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Sorry about the fight scene at the end, for some reason I just couldn't write combat today. I also mentioned in this chapter that Charon had a rifle instead of his shotgun. I have a reason for this and I will be going back and changing that he's had a rifle instead of his shotgun this entire time. In addition I will be doing small edits throughout the chapters, such as spelling and other things, very soon. R&R everyone! Hope you liked.

**Next Chapter**: Nora finds a way to show her appreciation to Charon for what he has done for her.


	7. While You Were Sleeping

Teufelszeug Yay for Charon potrayal win! I think at first I was so worried about getting him right, but as the chapters come to me so does his personality past and future bit by bit. And thank you for liking the raider's den. I've always seen it as important to see enemies, especially human ones as more than just faceless combatants. They have stories like everyone else - which will also come into play later.

SarahIntheSky God, I know. Daniel is so fun to write. He's really a big dork inside. Him and Charon are going to make interesting partners.

Rosethorn Oh, whew! I'm glad. Sometimes I feel like I can't pace fight scenes (such as also the one is this following chapter) but I'm happy you enjoyed it. I'm also happy you're liking Charon's past.

Now on to the next chapter! Thanks to everyone reading and still with me.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

**While You Were Sleeping**

* * *

After enduring such emotional trauma as she had during the last twenty-four hours Eleanor Blake was surprised by her ability to sleep peacefully throughout the night in her little rented bed in Carol's Place. Part of her felt a little guilty by being able to rest like that, but the other realized that Charon would not have wanted her to lose sleep over his state. The loss of sleep would cause her to make mistakes, put her own life in danger, and if that one thing he treasured above all was her well-being. She still wondered if that was only because of his contract, or if he cared about her beyond it as well. Regardless of the reason it was a very important part of him. Knowing this had helped allay some of her anxieties of the issue, especially when she considered what she had decided to do as she waited to fall asleep. It would something that he wouldn't have approved of in the slightest, but something she felt she needed to do none-the-less.

A much more pleasant mood filled her as she dressed and bought herself breakfast. It was hope that everything was going to be okay. Silly as it was Crowley's talk with her the night before had put many things in perspective and had let her think about others that eventually came into focus during the night. Nora had yet to see everything that was required for her improvement, however was confident (at least for the moment) that she was on the right path to fixing everything. She even was able to push her panic about Charon's physical injuries to the side, making her believe that in the end he was going to be okay. _He's just got to come out of this okay._ As cruel as the world was she just couldn't see whatever higher power that was in charge giving her a series of life-changing epiphanies only to rip away that which was most cherished in respect to those epiphanies.

When her breakfast had been significantly devoured she took two stairs at a time down to Underworld Outfitters. Before completely entering she waved her fingers in front of the door in a manner of greeting and then leaned in while grasping the door facing. "Good morning!" She chirped.

"Nora, you're back!" Tulip always seemed so surprised to see her. Well, the ghoul seemed surprised to see _anybody_ really. Winthrop poked his head in the shop every now and then to see how she was doing, but for the most part Tulip did very little business and had an even smaller amount in visitors. Nora couldn't really figure it out because it wasn't like what she had in stock was faulty, in fact she'd found quite a few interest items there, including the book Tulip had given her on her first trip to Underworld, and she was a fairly pleasant individual to converse with, albeit a little… verbally needy. That last bit could be quickly remedied by more visitors however.

"Yup!" Nora replied. "Got anything I might want to add to my collection of stuff?"

"Actually I have a few things." Tulip grabbed a box from under the counter and hauled it up to the top and started digging around. "I set them aside for you last time Quinn was back around. I don't think he wanted to sell them to me, but I convinced him to part with them." She produced a fairly decent pair of binoculars from the box and handed them over to Nora to try.

She eased the adjustment knobs until the view came into focus. With a smirk spreading on her face she asked, "how much?"

"For you, they're 20 caps."

"Only twenty caps?" Nora frowned, "I've never seen a good pair of these out there, most people just use their rifle scopes! These are worth way more than that."

"Last time I checked the customer was supposed to haggle the store owner _down_ not _up_." Tulip replied with amusement.

"Hey now, I'm not complaining here, I'm just sayin' that it seems unfair and you know me, I can't stand by and let unfair things happen. How about we say 40? Aaaaand," she pointed behind Tulip to a row of leather strips, "are you selling those?"

"I am if you're buying."

"Brilliant!" Nora dug through her pockets and produced the number of caps needed for the exchange. "I'm glad you have those. I have to do some repair work on Charon's leather outfit and it would have been such a pain without good leather pieces."

And _that_ was an instant mood killer. Tulip's expression melted into something serious and sympathetic. "I heard what happened to you guys on the way here last night. Is he doing all right?"

Nora sighed as she began to recount the caps again out of nervous habit. "Doc said he's still in the 'wait and see' stage, but he's pretty sure he's going to be fine. I mean," she forced a smile, "he's as tough as they come so I don't see him going down over this. That's why I wanted to fix up his outfit. Its been a while since he's patched up that thing, I mean hell, he treats that gun of his better than his own clothes."

"Ah," the ghoul storekeeper said, taking the caps and putting them in her worn cash register, "so its kind of your way of saying thanks."

"Yeah, since they were all out of greeting cards that read 'really appreciated you saving me from those feral ghouls that wanted to eat me!' this was the next best thing." That and what she was going to do next. "When you see him tell Quinn thanks for letting you have those binoculars, okay? These are going to be great."

"Will do." Tulip told her. As Nora turned to leave she said, "You're not going to stay and talk?" It was what she usually did. She would come in, buy some things, and then the two would chat for a little while about anything and everything.

The Lone Wanderer looked over her shoulder at her, "yeah, I'm sorry. I have a few errands I need to run and then I wanted to check in on Charon again now that I'm not so upset."

"Oh, ok! Well, come back soon!"

"I will!" _If I don't get eaten before lunchtime…_

X-X-X

Nora slipped out of Underworld as inconspicuously as possible; the last thing she needed was people thinking she was just leaving when the going got rough. In fact, she was doing just the opposite. After dropping her purchases off in her 'room' in Carol's she'd grabbed her best gun and headed out for the metro again. In the back of her head she could almost hear Charon's deep voice telling her that it wasn't wise what she was doing and that she should wait for him. _Its not important, Eleanor, just leave it alone._ He would probably say, but that wasn't the point. It was important; it was important to him and therefore it was important to her and damned if she wasn't going to do something about it. She would go stir crazy just sitting in Underworld thinking about the things she'd done wrong and what she should have done differently. This was her new beginning, a sign to both him and herself that she could do better.

Willow called out to her as she slowed to check her ammo once again. "Where are you going?" The smoothskin couldn't be going far because she only had a weapon and a small pouch of supplies dangling from her belt. By the look of determination on her face she was on a mission.

As if she had forgotten all about Underworld's guard the girl stopped and looked at her. Caught in the act. "Back to the metro."

"Why the hell would you want to do a stupid thing like that?" Willow couldn't contain her feelings on the matter. She remembered how messed up Charon was when the two had to drag him back to Underworld and Nora was just as bad, but emotionally. She had been scared out of her mind and nearly useless. The thought of her wanting to return to the place that all of that happened was the most ridiculous thing she'd heard in a long time – and she'd been around long enough to say that that made it pretty goddamned ridiculous.

"You remember Charon's shotgun don't you?"

"… Yes." Who _didn't_? Even before he had started following this little vaultie punk around the wastes it was obvious that that damned shotgun was his metaphorical baby. It was modded to high heaven and kept in such a top condition that it was likely worth more than most slaves to the right buyers. Not that Charon would ever sell that thing.

"It wasn't in Charon's belongings that Barrows put together. I remember him having it on the top platform and then it was gone when we were running for the exit. I'm pretty sure it got lost back there somewhere."

"Wait… you're going to get it?" Willow corrected herself. This wasn't just ridiculous it was crazy. She was beginning to wonder if they only made insane people down in those vaults.

"Yes." Nora answered quite placidly.

"You're going to get yourself killed is what you're going to do. What then?" She'd never been particularly close to Charon, heck no one was, but ghouls had to stick together and if Nora went down there and got herself gnawed to death then he'd be hell to live with. For some reason the little idiot was important to him.

"I'm not going to get myself killed. Its not an option."

She looked indomitable on this issue. "Do you want me to help?" Willow would probably regret offering, but she felt like she couldn't just let the girl walk into a deathtrap.

"No. I mean, I'd feel bad if something happened. Enough people have gotten hurt because of me. Really, I'm pretty sure I know exactly where it is, or at least the general area. I can be stealthy when I need to be. Shouldn't take me long at all." She gave the guard a smile. Crowley had reminded her that she had once been able to take care of herself, that she had been strong. If she was once she could be that again. Certainly a few ferals weren't enough to take her out. Were they?

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Back before you know I'm gone."

X-X-X

She had never been afraid of the dark as a child, and if the monster under her bed really existed it had been a coward. It wasn't until she was out here in the wasteland that Nora began to feel real fear for things that were unknown. Out here there very well could be a monster under your bed, or at least around the next corner. Down in the metros was where one could claim creatures were born and she might agree with them. The ever-present blackness, the chilling silence, it was all too creepy for even the toughest men sometimes. She could deal with dogs, bash molerats around with no problem, but when the rotted animalistic face of a feral came at her out of the darkness it was more than just a little disconcerting.

Despite her uneasiness she ignored the urge to turn on her pip-boy light. It wouldn't necessarily make things easier to see and would make her a much better target for what lurked down here. She skirted along the cold concrete walls, listening for anything that might tell where any potential enemies might be. If she was lucky she might be able to get in and out without being sensed at all. The only problem with that thought was that lately she was very rarely lucky.

_Yes, but this isn't for me, God, so give me a break. After all this Charon deserves something nice._

Somewhere in the dark she could hear the scuffing of a few pairs of uncoordinated feet. Ferals. Probably some of the same ones that had attacked them. There was nothing more she wanted to do than get a little payback for the harm they had caused, but she knew there was no way to combat that many of them when they had such an advantage. Instead she worked herself around to a vantage point and squinted through the black, trying to make out their shapes.

Squatting against the wall, she reached into her small pack, movements minimal enough to not make any undue noise. Finally she came out with a few fragmentation mines and her lips curved upward.

Perfect.

X-X-X

The gun was the easy part. Nora snatched it off the ground from where it had fallen amidst the dusty concrete before she had even stopped moving. She shifted directions quickly, her boots scratching against the floor and sending up little clouds of debris around her feet. As she came to face the way she had come a gnarled arm came out of the dark towards her face and she ducked under its grazing blow and sprinted passed it as quick as she had come. Behind her she heard the familiar screams of the damned as they followed her. Just like before, except Charon wasn't here to protect her.

So she had made a contingency plan. Nora counted in her head and when she reached that magic number she jumped over a line of subtle blinking red dots; the frag mines she had placed down before she had gone to fetch Charon's shotgun. When she landed she skidded against the ground and hit the wall a few feet in front of her. The ferals were too close behind to stop and when they hit the mines the explosion would most likely knock her off her feet if she was too close. She could only hope that it got all of them or at least disoriented them enough to allow her to get a good lead.

Perhaps she would actually make it out without a scratch this time.

BLAM-WHOOSH.

Apparently placing that many mines in such a small proximity was not a good idea. She was thrown forward with such force that her legs almost went over her head. Her chest hit first and then her cheek scraped against the pavement, eliciting a vicious cry and a curse. The shotgun, which she had hurriedly wedged into the top of her bag went spilling out and smacked onto the hard surface, landing just out of reach. _Damnit._

On hands and knees she started to crawl towards it to grab it again, but a pair of claw-like hands descended on her back, digging into her flesh and tearing. Nora threw back her head in surprise and screamed. "Let go!" One kick to its shoulder forced it back long enough for her to move again. This time her fingers gripped the gun right before one of its hands closed around her ankle and pulled, dragging her back. Teeth sunk into her calf. The pain made her seethe and she felt warm blood already dripping down her skin.

"You're not—" Nora flipped around, tearing her foot from out of its hands, "—eating me today!" This time her boot bashed into its face. It didn't exactly hurt it, but it sure as hell pissed it off. Moments later it was leaping on her, claws slicing at her eyes. The Lone Wanderer brought Charon's gun up in front of her, holding the barrel in one hand and the stock in the other to block its attack. One last kick to its chest and it was thrown back far enough for her to swing his gun around and aim. "Fuck you."

Blood, skin, and flecks of other rotted matter rained down around her. For a few moments everything was quiet and she breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed against the cool concrete, hugging Charon's gun to her chest. He would probably throw a fit – well, at least give her one of those glaring looks of disapproval – if he knew what she was doing. It was strange though because she felt even though he wasn't with her that he was still there protecting her somehow. Maybe it was just because his gun had almost seemed like an extension of his being, therefore it felt like he was with her. No matter what it was she was safe, and once more she would thank him for her safety despite his absence.

Somewhere she heard more hungry cries and she got to her feet. "Time to go."

X-X-X

Willow was beginning to think she'd never see the Vault Rat again – at least in one piece. Then she heard the metal door swinging open and then closed to the metro followed by a happy, light-hearted humming. The ghoul guard crossed her arms over her chest and watched the top of the stairs until Nora appeared, shotgun clutched in her slender arms. The girl was walking with a limp, blood droplets tracing the path behind her right leg, and she was covered in grey dust, blood, and scrapes. However, none of that seemed to faze her.

"Hello, Willow!" She chirped.

The ghoul blinked at her and dropped her arms at her sides. "You should probably see a doctor."

"Oh this?" Nora frowned, looking down at her wounds. "Nah, I've got some business to take care of first. Its nothing serious."

"I see." Willow replied, watching as the human girl continued on towards the door to Underworld. She wasn't about to start singing her praises, but considered that maybe somewhere beneath all that childish foolishness might actually be a decent person. No one else – no one smoothskin, and probably not many other ghouls – would have gone down into the darkness alone to retrieve an inanimate object for someone like Charon. Yet Dr. Blake's little girl cared to notice it had meant something to her employed man and did it despite being afraid. "Hey, Tourist!"

Nora turned around as her hand brushed the door. "Yeah?"

"Good job, kid." No doubt that Charon would be proud of her.

At first Nora's mouth fell into a serious, but thoughtful expression, then once more turned upward, the gentleness reaching up to her eyes as well. "Thanks." She disappeared inside.

* * *

**Next Chapter**: Nora pays Charon a visit at the Chop Shop.


End file.
